


Artificial Starlight over Texas

by StarStruck



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, In Universe, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-11-14 17:18:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18056765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarStruck/pseuds/StarStruck
Summary: McCree gets the recall notification from a familiar face, but isn't sure if he really wants to become involved in anything Overwatch related again. Then again... what else does he really have going on? The treat of Talon is growing and a familiar name might be attached to the organization that cannot be ignored.But a chance encounter on a warm night in Texas might make the situation even more complicated, if that is even possible.





	1. All Around Cowboy

“I know how things were before, but we need you.”

But did he need them?

“You know how he works better than even we do. You know how he runs things.”

That was true. But his first question still wasn’t answered.

“He’s killing off our old agents, McCree. People who have moved on with their lives. People who have nothing to do with any of this.”  
But they did have something to do with it before. They wouldn’t be targets if they hadn’t. Plenty of previous agents were still breathing.

“Jesse.”

McCree looked up from his bourbon finally. The first sign that he had heard anything that Ana had said. Her face was as serious as he remembered it from seven years ago. Her worry lines had deepened more than her smile lines had, too many years of stress and not enough of enjoying life. He hadn’t wanted to be like that, but he couldn’t say he actually faired any better.

“Jesse, please. This isn’t just about the past. There are a lot of lives that are involved in this. I can’t offer you much money, and I can’t assure you of safety,” McCree managed to not laugh at his former captain for that comment, “But I can promise you will make a difference.”

Straightening his spine out, McCree knocked back the last of his drink. He had been meaning to savor it, who knew when he could get another drink like this one, but Ana’s arrival had brought back too many ghosts. “I left before everything blew up for a reason, Captain.” Her title slid out in such a familiar way. It was the kind of familiarity that made you feel like you needed to scrub clean after. 

Ana’s frown deepened, and McCree could see why she had so many lines when her face made such powerful looks like that one on a whim. “I know.”

“And I suspect there are still some people around that might resent me for that. Don’t you?”

There was a pause. Ana knew exactly what he meant. McCree hadn’t taken the side of Blackwatch or Overwatch when things went down. Instead he had run for it without a single word. “There was some… speculation that you perhaps wouldn’t feel comfortable opposing Gabriel. But I know you, Jesse. You can see this is as wrong as any of us. Talon is growing stronger. They aren’t just weapon dealers any longer.”

The bar was mostly empty, but Ana kept her voice low. McCree only frequented the type of establishment where that was completely normal, so no one was paying any attention, yet he did a quick glance over the patrons anyway. No one seemed particularly listening or out of place. Still, the hair on his arm stood up for some reason. Maybe it was the ghosts.

With a deep sigh he rubbed his right hand over his eyes and down his neck. “Captain-“

Ana stood up from the worn-out bar stool, silencing McCree instantly as he looked at her- almost at attention. “Think about it.” She took a small, round tracker out of her pocket and placed it next to McCree’s glass with a soft thump. “If you choose to answer the recall, push the button on the tracker and we’ll find you. But sleep on it,” she said in a tone between motherly affection and superior orders.

“If you can sleep that is,” she added as she pulled her hood over her head and left the bar.

He watched her go out the solid wood door and into the warm Texan night. The wood that lined the inside of the bar made it seem dingy to people who had taste, but it did help keep it a nice temperature on nights like this. Just warm enough without being overwhelming. It’s relatively small size aided in that factor as well. Six booths and three tables made for a cozy atmosphere when you were trying to drink alone. Especially when only a handful of people occupied them.

Holding up a finger, McCree summoned another drink from the distant bartender. He needed more alcohol to help deal with all the thoughts running through his mind. Talon, Blackwatch, Overwatch.

Reyes.

“Fuck.” He muttered now fully bent over the bar just from the weight of the thoughts. The alcohol was doing its job, he only had a fuzzy grasp on his own movements so his shoulders would ache in the morning from all this invisible weight they were holding now. But he still needed more to be truly drunk. Where was his drink?

The fresh glass hit the bar in front of him as the old one was retrieved with no words. McCree almost asked for the bottle but restrained himself. Cash was tight, and a warm shower sounded almost as good as getting completely wasted. Almost.

He righted himself enough to sip from the glass and look around the bar. A few people had come in, he had heard them but hadn’t cared, and were now sipping their own drinks as they too kept to themselves. The thought crossed his mind that if he had picked a different bar maybe he could have found someone willing to take him home. Then he could have more alcohol money and a shower. But this wasn’t that kind of place.

Or so he thought.

A woman was sitting at the other end of the bar, short glass in hand as she scoped out the room with an air of indifference. Something about her seemed familiar. She wore a purple blouse which popped in the bland bar, but the hue was subtle enough that one might eventually stop noticing her.

Not that McCree could. Her dark hair curled over her tan skin which drew his eyes back up to her face like a well-executed painting, completely entrapping the viewer from being able to look away. But even staring at her so blatantly, he couldn’t pin where he had seen her before.

Finally her eyes turned to look at McCree, catching him in the act of staring at her. Only then did he remember social manners and have the mind to look away, taking another sip casually as if he had meant to be caught. He really shouldn’t be adding to the list of things on his mind, even if it could save him a little booze money.

Attempting to keep himself from looking back at the woman, the cowboy took instead to looking over his left arm. He was sitting at the turn of the bar shrouded in enough shadow that he felt less subconscious of people noticing. He had smashed it into a brick wall during an altercation a few days ago and it had felt a little tense ever sense. Really he should be spending the last of his money on making sure that it wasn’t about to fall apart.

He hated the fucking thing.

The bartender sat down another glass in front of McCree and moved to walk away again before the cowboy stopped him with a lifted hand. “Uh I didn’t order this, buddy. Not that I don’t want it of course.”

“It’s from the woman at the other end of the bar,” he replied with a dull tone. The man was graying and obviously so good at not caring about the people that came to the bar it was no wonder he kept the business he did. But he kept it well. Years of practice.

Left at the end of the bar alone once more McCree looked down the polished wood at the only female that occupied it currently. Of course it was the woman wearing purple. Her lips were even painted purple, and they smirked knowingly at him. One hand rested under her chin and the other held her glass up as if to toast him.

Even through his alcoholic haze he felt a grin slide easily on to his face, or maybe he noticed it more because of the alcohol. It could be weird that way.

What could it hurt to keep her company for a little while? Especially if she was buying.

He tipped the last of the glass he had already been working on down his throat before taking his new drink and standing up to wonder over to her at an easy pace. The taste of the bourbon sat heavy in his mouth as he looked down at her and motioned to the empty seat next to her, but she only lifted an eyebrow in response. She was a cheeky one.

Figuring that was good enough for permission to sit down, he did and lifted the glass she had ordered for him. “To new friends,” he said with a pleasantly large grin.

She chuckled at him but didn’t agree or deny his choice in words and merely clinked her glass to his and took a sip. He followed her lead, eyes still taking her in over the rim of his glass.

There was a quiet moment between them as they both sat their glasses down onto the bar counter again. If he had been more sober he might have thought for a moment that she didn’t actually want him to come over, but no matter his alcohol level McCree had charisma. “Haven’t we met before?”

“This isn’t a lead in to a bad pick up line is it?” Her accent was heavy but not overly familiar for the cowboy.

He laughed. It had sounded like a really lame lead into a bad pick up line. “No. But if you wanna hear some bad ones, I got ‘em.”

Finally she turned her body fully toward McCree, leaning on the bar casually, “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“You know what they say about a man with a big belt buckle,” he said gesturing to his BAMF buckle as he squared his shoulders and gave his best smile. The fact he could deliver the line so confidently only added to the humor as the woman laughed. The reaction was all he could have hoped for, honestly. It wasn’t a giggle but a full laugh, and her shoulders relaxed once she stopped.

“Okay,” she said taking in a breath to recover, “That one was pretty bad.”

He chuckled and took a sip of his drink to keep up his buzz. “Yeah, but it works.”

“Does it?” she asked with a tone of disbelief.

“I’m not sure. I’ll have to let you know in the morning.”

“Calm your horses cowboy,” she said waving a hand at him before sipping her own drink. She crossed her legs and McCree’s eyes were drawn down to them. Her black pants hugged her thighs and he had to force his gaze back to her face.

The side of her head was shaved and it looked like she had some kind of tech implants. He wanted to touch them suddenly, ask if they hurt. He flexed the fingers of his left hand, momentarily getting lost in the thoughts of humans with technology attached to their bodies in his growing alcohol induced haze.

“You okay there, Cowboy?” He looked into her eyes and away from her hair line. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or a sincere attraction, but he wanted to drink her up. Her long eyelashes, purple irises, full lips.

“I hope you don’t mind my saying, ma’am, but you’re gorgeous.”

For the first time she looked struck. The coy hand beneath her chin fell softly to the bar and her lips parted a little in absentminded shock. By the time she recovered McCree was sipping the drink down to its last, starting to wonder if maybe one more drink would push him to that perfect level of drunk or if he was better off stopping now.

“Thank you. You’re pretty handsome yourself,” she said finishing her glass in one drink. McCree whistled impressed as she sat her glass down with energy and ordered another round for the two.

“This one is on me,” he said loud enough the bartender could hear.

“Then how about a shot to end the night on.”

McCree frowned. “Aw you’re quittin’ on me?”

The bartender sat down two shot glasses and the woman picked them both up, offering one to him. “Who said anything about quitting? Unless you have somewhere you gotta be.” Teasingly she swirled the glass she was offering to him.

He took the glass into his hand and chuckled again. “Gotta? Nah. Right here is fine by me.”

In unspoken unison they clicked their glasses together, tapped them back on to the bar for a second, and tossed the shots back. The hard liquor flavor hit McCree hard in the back of his throat, but he didn’t cough or sputter. It had a great taste after that initial hit and he sat the small glass down with a hard exhale. “Wow. You like it hard don’t you?”

She raised her eyebrow at him again and he laughed realizing the possibilities of his statement. Leaning forward she put a hand onto his thigh and brought her lips close to his ear making his laugh die in his throat, “Let’s get out of here and you can find out.”

“I’ll follow where ever you lead, darlin’.” His voice was low, with just enough of a growl in it that she seemed pleased. He knew because she reacted by gripping his thigh tighter.

He pulled out his cash and paid the bartender as she slid from her stool to stand up. “Keep the change, partner.”

The bartender nodded as he took the money, “Come back any time.”

“I just might do that,” he said with a small wink before turning to see the woman gone from next to him. He did a 180 and saw her standing next to the door, holding it open with one hand and reaching out for him with the other.

“Thank you kindly,” he said offering out his left arm out of habit. She looked at it and for a moment he almost retracted it and offered his right, but she took it as if she saw nothing wrong with it. ‘Of course she is fine with it. Obviously she has her own tech,’ he thought as they left through the door together and went out into the night.

Her fingers traced over the arm, inspecting it in detail. It made him nervous at first, but the way her fingers moved delicately was endearing at first and quickly turned to be a bit- well if he was honest- a bit sexy. He rotated the arm palm upward so she could inspect the other side of it if she so wished. “Most folks get a bit uneasy about the arm what with the crises an’ all,” he said quietly.

“I’m not most people.”

“That we can definitely agree on.”

She stopped looking over his arm to gaze up at him. “You’re a real charmer, cowboy,” she said with a quiet, but pleased, voice as her hand rested on his arm.

“I aim to please. And I always hit my mark.” He heard her chuckle at him and he became very aware of how intoxicated he felt. The world had an intense fuzz to it and he was pretty sure his voice was a nice level, but it seemed so loud. Was he walking straight? Maybe he shot a few too many back at the bar.

The woman didn’t seem bothered by any of his actions, and easily led him down the street.

A few insects were buzzing about, but for the most part it was a pleasant night. The right temperature, not a lot of people around disrupting the seamless sound of late spring. A breeze rustled the overgrown grass, and spite all the light pollution you could still see some stars. McCree was staring up at them, letting himself be led. “Have you ever been to Big Bend?”

She seemed a bit caught off guard. “You mean Big Ben? In London?” she asked with one eyebrow raised and extra humor in her voice.

He chuckled and adjusted his hat further back on his head so his face was more apparent and his view less obscured. “No. Big Bend National Park in Texas.”

“No, I haven’t.” Her voice was tinged with caution, uncertain of where her partner for the night was going with this sudden inquiry.

“Oh you gotta,” he responded with a lift of energy, “Even now with civilization sprawlin’ out everywhere it is one of the places with the least light pollution. You can see so many stars.”

He was looking down at her, large grin across his face that was so infectious that her lips turned into a small, sincere smile. She looked up at the sky, but he kept looking down at her. He wondered what she was thinking in that moment as he watched her eyes take in the night. “Do you like stars, darlin’?”

She laughed and looked ahead of them again, tugging on his arm to keep him walking- he hadn’t noticed they stopped. “Everyone likes stars, guero.”

Just like that a little bit of whatever had caught her was gone and the self-sure woman was back. McCree didn’t mind the slang. Sure he understood it. But there was worse she could call him, and hell it all would be probably true.

“This is it,” she said leading McCree to a motel room door.

It was one of those motels that had doors leading directly outside. They were really rare any more, most of society preferred to have more secluded hotels and would pay more for them. But a few of these were still around and kept up. They were the only kind McCree used if he could. It allowed easy, quiet escape, and they were always cheapest. He almost laughed.

“Is this okay?” she asked looking a little embarrassed as she let go of his arm to put a hand on the door and look over her shoulder back at him.

Putting his thumb into his belt, he shifted his weight to one leg, managing to look as confident and sure as he normally did. “Darlin’, as long as you’re around I think I’ll be just fine.”

With one last glance at him she unlocked the door and went in, leaving it open for him to follow.


	2. Angel and The Badman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree revisits old memories and Sombra visits his pockets.

The interrogation room was completely made up of sheet metal. The ticking of the clock resonated like a hammer being beaten while the room was devoid of talking. That was intentional, Jesse knew it. It was to drive you mad before you were interrogated so you’d be more compliant. He shifted on the uncomfortable metal chair, the manacle on his wrists were chained to the desk and he couldn’t move too much. Also done to make you want to talk so you could get out of there.

But Jesse wasn’t willing to talk. If he did, he’d be dead. Hell, maybe if he didn’t he’d be dead. But surely the government would at least make it fast, painless. The Deadlock Gang wouldn’t be so kind. And that is if they caught him before one of the numerous organizations he worked with got to him first.

Screw that.

“I get it! You’re going to make me suffer so I talk! Can we just get it over with already?” he hollered at the two-way mirror reflection of himself, sure there was already someone behind it watching him shift in his seat.

No response came so Jesse slumped onto the metal table face first with a long groan. He wanted to cover his ears with his arms to escape the damn ticking, but he also didn’t want whoever was watching to see he was getting bothered.

Granted it had been an hour. Anyone would be getting stir crazy by now. But still, saving face was a priority.

The door opened without a single noise. Jesse was surprised, sure it would squeal just to add another nail in the annoying confession coffin. A tall man with tan skin came into the room. He wasn’t holding anything, but he was wearing black gloves and Jesse watched as they closed the door behind him.

“Sit up,” the man ordered harshly.

He didn’t know the guy’s name, but he wouldn’t forget the face. This man was the reason he was in the room. He had seen him make the order to bring Jesse in, but he didn’t remember him actually being at the sting. Taking stock of the situation, and knowing he wasn’t going to talk, Jesse sat up so as to try and get this over with as fast as possible. But he slumped forward in his chair a little out of spite.

“You look young. How old are you? Twenty-two?” The man sat down in the chair opposite Jesse with a level of grace that seemed out of place for a man of his stature.

“Somethin’ like that.”

“Do you know why I brought you in here, Jesse?”

This made him pause. Someone had already started to talk if they knew his name. He had refused to give it when they caught him. “I figure you’re gunna tell me.”

“All the members of the Deadlock Gang we captured here today are going to a maximum-security lockup. No deals.”

He had to be messing with Jesse. Why would they go through the hoops of keeping him here, making him wait, and now talking to him privately if they were just going to toss him into maximum? “And?”

“You don’t seem surprised. Aren’t you curious why there aren’t going to be any deals?”

“I figure you have someone on the inside, or someone that is high up enough on the ladder has already been mouthin’ off. So you don’t need the rest of us to fess up any information. That or you just don’t care. This is a formality, something Overwatch does to keep the public happy and no one will be sad if we get shipped off without a trial. But if you really wanna know, I think it’s option one.”

The man smirked. It was small, almost unnoticeable to anyone that didn’t know him well. Jesse had always been pretty good at reading a face. It’s what made him faster on the draw than anybody. One small muscle movement was the difference between a man that was going to draw a gun and try to kill him, and a man that was going to walk away. “So why are we talkin’ then, if there aren’t any deals being cut?”

The man sat up just a hair straighter, his hands that had been resting on the table now cupped in each other in a sign of control but also trust. Nothing in his hands, no reason to be concerned. But the gloves made Jesse nervous on that front. He had wondered if he was going to beat him if he hadn’t talked, but now he didn’t need to. Maybe it was just a power move. Maybe the guy just liked gloves and he was over thinking it.

“I saw the video of your capture. You shot three of our people in the shoulder.”

“That’s what happens in a gun fight.”

“Without missing even once.”

“Luck.”

“Skill.”

“And if it was?”

“You also managed to shoot a crate open, dropping some heavy goods onto two more, and killed three others dead.”

Jesse didn’t say anything to that. These were facts, he couldn’t dispute it. Three people died because of him directly. But it was business. “Well if they had better aim I’m sure they would have done the same to me.” That was how he had to think about it. There was already a large body count on his belt, and he couldn’t let three more bother him now.

This time there was a long pause between them. Jesse didn’t know what else to say to speed things up, he was guilty. There was video evidence of it. What he wouldn’t do for his gun now so he could shoot the god damned clock.

The man shifted so he was leaning back in his chair a little, looking like he had all the time in the world. He splayed his hands open at Jesse who raised an eyebrow in return. “You’re right. They would have. But they weren’t as good as you.”

Though it wasn’t the time, that stroked his ego a little bit. Jesse had always been a pretty good shot, but admittedly a little of what happened that day had been luck. He wasn’t always that good.

“So I have an offer for you. Only you. You have skills, Jesse. Skills that can be useful. Skills that can help you make the kind of difference in the world that you don’t have to be ashamed of.”

“Who said I was ashamed of what I’ve done?”

Apparently he elected to ignore that. “So here’s the deal. I run an organization. A very specific, special organization.”

“You run Overwatch?” he asked in disbelief. Must be a good deal if the person running Overwatch came in to see him.

The man chuckled and leaned forward onto his forearms. He had almost gone into a full-on laugh at one point, but it was obvious he was in control of his reactions. “No. I run an organization within Overwatch. The other side of the coin if you will. We need more people with your skills. I’ll tell you more about if, if you agree. Or if you prefer, you can rot to your miserable death behind the bars at maximum. The choice is yours.”

It wasn’t a choice at all. No one wanted to go to maximum. And even if he would be the dog of the government, at least he’d still be somewhat free. In theory he’d see daylight that didn’t come through bars. He could still drink real alcohol. Plus he never really wanted to know how uncomfortable those prison jumpsuits were. He’d miss his hat.

Jesse sat up and the man watched him very carefully. As much as he could, he put out his right hand for the man to shake. “The name’s Jesse McCree. I’m your new agent.”

Another low chuckle from the man as he sat up and took Jesse’s hand into his own with a tight shake. “Commander Gabriel Reyes. Welcome to Blackwatch, Jesse.”

~~~~~~~

 

Slow and steady snoring filled the small room, masking the sound of hands searching through pockets. Minus his hat and boots, McCree was still fully dressed. Thanks to a little extra help in his drink, he was out the moment his butt had touched the bed, giving Sombra all the time she needed to search him over. He didn’t have any bags with him at the bar, so in theory he had stashed it somewhere before going out. That was smart, it kept him from becoming a target to would be thieves.

Well under normal circumstances.

It seemed Overwatch hadn’t provided him any physical information other than the tracker she swiped while still at the bar. The idiot had left it at his original sitting position when she beckoned him over. Either he didn’t care about it, or he had really been that distracted by her.

Sombra finished a general pat down of his torso, satisfied he had nothing on him. “Well, at least it wasn’t a total wash,” she mumbled holding the tracker between two fingers. A solid push would activate it and the woman from before would be summoned to its location. Maybe she’d have help.

That wasn’t any of her business though. She pocketed the tracker to take apart later and jumped when a hand touched hers.

She expected to turn and McCree be staring at her, knowing what she had done and what her game was. But instead his eyes were open only the tiniest slit, staring at her. “Like stars,” he mumbled before his hand slid slack and he was back into the realm of unconsciousness.

It took her a moment to recover. Her muscles had tensed, ready for a fight. But now she was sitting on the bed staring at the unconscious man baffled. What did that mean? Like stars? She slid her hand from his touch and stood up brushing off his words. It didn’t really matter what he meant. Just the ramblings of a man drugged and barely conscious.

A small ting came to her ears, something only she could hear, and Sombra knew her babysitter was checking in. With a small huff she lifted her hand and made her interactive screen appear in the air. A few taps summoned a text to appear in front of her:

“Status.”

A man of many words as always. She could ignore it, he would assume she was still working, but figuring she was done anyway she responded. “Complete. Extracted item left by Overwatch.”

With a swipe of her hand the screen was gone and she was in a dark room again, just a little light filtering in through the shabby curtains and into the room to offer a dull glow of yellow. As her eyes adjusted she could see McCree’s features clearly. He wasn’t bad looking, she had to admit. Even if his choice of clothing was ridiculous. His hair was a little too long for most people, but it suited his face. It was obvious he kept his facial hair shaped up, but it was in need of a trim.

There had been nothing in the mission to state she should kill him. His lack of care about the transmitter was a positive sign he wasn’t going back to Overwatch, so it didn’t really seem necessary.

A new ting.

“Return to hideout.”

She rolled her eyes at the message. “Aw. Do you miss me, boss?” she replied knowing it would bother Reaper for her to break the professional flow as well as tease him directly.

“It was fun, cowboy,” she muttered softly, looking back at him and away from the disappearing screen. McCree didn’t move, truly unconscious. Sombra stood and shook her head with a small laugh, and with a wave of her hand over her face she disappeared from view. Now even if he woke up, he would never see her go.

~~~~~~~

 

“Housekeeping?”

The loud yell made McCree jump awake, and the movement made him groan as his neck was aching from being in a less than ideal position most of the night. “Hm? Uh. No thanks,” he called back as an immediate reaction.

He rubbed his neck with his right hand, propping himself up using his left. “Where am I?” he muttered looking around the simple hotel room. There was the standard TV, dresser, desk, and desk chair but no items that belonged to a person on any of them. Had there even been anything the night before? He couldn’t remember.

With a sudden realization he looked down and realized he was wearing all of his clothing. Good thing was it wasn’t stolen leaving him in a compromising situation, bad news is he was still wearing it. He must have fallen asleep the moment they got into the room. “God damnit,” he grumbled as he rubbed his face awake. ‘You blew that one, Jesse,’ he thought as he forced himself to his feet.

‘Well, I’m already here. Might as well get in that shower.’

Showers are a double-edged knife. You feel clean, your muscles can relax under the warm water, the sound of the water filling your ears with white noise helps your brain focus. But it is that focus that can be so damn hurtful. Now that McCree was sober and mostly clear-headed Ana’s voice just kept talking in his mind and he just wanted it to stop.

When the train was hijacked a few weeks back by Talon, he had noticed their similarities to Blackwatch. It had bothered him, eaten at the back of his mind. Reyes was supposed to be dead, Genji would never turn to Talon, Moira didn’t strike him as the type to train recruits. There were other Blackwatch members but none that worked as closely with Reyes as he himself did. And he sure as hell wasn’t training Talon on formation and function.

He leaned his back against the cheap white tile of the shower, letting the water hit his chest as he took in a deep breath. Reyes was alive. Ana was alive. Morrison was probably alive. Who else was going to come back from the grave and surprise him next? Gerard? No, that one everyone knew was dead for good.

‘She’s right though. I know how Reyes works. Things he hid from the Strike Commander. But I have no idea what he is thinking right now. Taking out ex-Overwatch members? That’s crazy.’

Shutting off the water McCree grumbled slightly about getting back into dirty clothes, but his bag was still stashed so it’d have to do. Not the first or last time he had to wear dirty clothes, but it would have been nice to have a fresh feeling while he battled the past.

Damn ghosts.

Within ten minutes he was changed, things collected, and out the door. His hair was still damp, and he left his hat off for it to dry in the sun. It was only spring but the Texan sun was already warm. But like the shower, it just couldn’t touch a growing cold in his chest.

He reached into his pants pocket for the transmitter, wanting to look it over and consider his options, only to find it absent. Quickly he searched all his clothes, probably looking like a fool to passersby’s as he checked every pocket twice, even his hat lining. As he searched his mumbling became curses and he groaned in realization he never picked it up from the bar top. ‘Idiot!’

The bar would be closed this early in the day. But even if he broke in there was no way it would be there still. The owner would have cleaned up the place and who knew what he would have done with the unidentified transmitter. Probably thrown it away.

“I guess that answers that question,” he sighed. He slid his hat over his head to rest on his back, held on by the stampede string around his neck, and put his hands into his pockets in resignation. He had no way of contacting anyone from Overwatch now. And that was for the best. What was in the past should stay in the past.

What was dead, should have had the courtesy to stay dead.

His bag was stashed behind an air conditioner unit near the bar. He’d grab it and keep working his way North. Maybe a money-making opportunity would come up and he’d wonder up to Colorado.

Not to look for anything really. Just… for old times sake.


	3. Baby Ride Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Talon has the Overwatch transmitter, what will they do with it?

There wasn’t a Talon base in this part of Texas, which was a shame because Sombra had gotten used to the little luxuries combined with familiarities. It wasn’t as if it was required, obviously she had gone without it this long, but it had been a nice change of pace.

The hotel they were put up in was lavish though. A place where the rich scum of the earth could hide away behind well monitored security and room service that was prepared by real chefs. It was the ability to have so much security openly that appeased the organization, and probably appeased Akande. Sombra had only just met him before this trip, but he seemed more than happy to be in a fresh suit and eat real food. His room had the largest living room in it which was serving as the briefing room when required.

So many luxuries that he was denied while locked away in Helix’s maximum-security prison. Not that he complained about his time spent. It was almost unnerving how completely professional Akande was in every manner. Even as he enjoyed the finery it was in the same appreciative nature that a lion enjoys the sun around his den. Familiar, not too proud, not entitled, but comfortable.

This afternoon Akande had donned a pair of black slacks with what looked to be a comfortable crème button up. Still being a professional icon, even in his moment of leisure. Sombra admired that about him, even if it wasn’t her style. She did have to admit his skin tone really did go well with that color though. And in the cool gray of the room he was a figure that drew your attention.

Every action was a planned one.

“What have you found out about the transmitter?” Akande asked as he sat back on the plush couch, a drinking glass in hand.

“It’s a basic beacon. It doesn’t connect to a signal it only releases one. Whatever they have to locate it cannot be connected to via the transmitter. I could replicate the beacon but there would be no point. More than one source would make them suspicious.” Sombra sat the item in question on the glass coffee table that sat in the middle of them.

Widowmaker and Reaper didn’t react, not surprising. Widowmaker always looked bored. Rarely had the sniper let on emotions and when she had it had been in the field when things went wrong.

But Reaper was another story. It was just impossible to read him through the mask. And he always wore it when they did business. It was a goal of Sombra’s to see under it. Well to really see under it. Only once had she gotten close to a glimpse after walking into his quarters unannounced. The rage in his voice was enough to make her leave spite her curiosity.

“We should use it before too much time passes. The likelihood it would be activated by McCree,” the way Reaper said his name held a level of disdain that Sombra had previously only heard used when ‘Morrison’ came up in the plans, “past 24 hours would be slim.”

Akande nodded and put his free hand to his chin to think. “What do you suggest?”

“Approximately 22 hours after he received the transmitter would be optimal time to activate it.”

“Ten hours from now. That should be enough time to put something together I hope?”

Reaper nodded and Akande stood, drink held delicately to his side. “The point of the mission will be to take out any returning Overwatch agent that arrives. But,” he looked at the three agents that occupied the room with him, “within reason. If the number that arrive have skills that can’t be taken out by our number, then only take intel. I’ll leave it to you, Reyes, to make that call.”

“And where will you be, boss?” Sombra asked as she shifted from having her legs swung over one arm, to being crossed just under her. Already she was getting fidgety.

“I have something else to take care of. Our next stop. I’ll brief you on it after I have finished my end of the communication line. For now, focus on this.”

He went to the window, the 25th floor had a spectacular view spite the cluster of buildings in the city. It wasn’t clear if he was done or not, but they waited anyway, even as Sombra uncrossed and re-crossed her legs in her chair and pulled up her interactive screen.

“I’ll send you the pick-up location. We’ll leave after you are finished. You can continue to use this room to formulate your plan. Contact me if necessary, but with how simple this job is I do not expect a call.” There was an underlying implication that if they had to call in for help, then they weren’t following orders in an acceptable way. And people that couldn’t perform would meet repercussions. Standard warnings from a boss, but Akande didn’t threat idly or directly. It was supposed to be more intimidating, making you wonder what he could possibly have in store for the offenders.

Truthfully Sombra was sure it was more of a habit than a real warning. There was little even Akande could do to the three of them. The person he could probably hurt the most would be Gabe. Denying him specific desires or holding back his own personal agenda, but he wouldn’t be able to control him either if he were to do that. The power balance in the room was defined mostly by the willingness of the participants. So in theory the real threat of failure was that the three could lose face. And that was worse to some of them.

She personally was used to people who talked big. People who thought they knew everything. But the way Akande commanded sometimes made her flesh raise. He was good, she had to admit. Even if he had no real power over her. He may have the means to block her, make finding out what she wanted harder, but she was used to overcoming obstacles. She was confident that if the tides turned and she had to disappear from Talon she would lose a strong ally but her goals wouldn’t be obtainable.

Akande brought the glass to his lips and sipped the last of his dark drink before turning his view from the window. Even as he moved he managed to make it look suave. He returned the glass to the bar before retiring to the bedroom portion of his suite, sliding the partition closed to give himself some privacy.

“So,” Widowmaker spoke at last, “What is the plan?”

“I have a list of isolated locations around the city that we could use as the stage,” Sombra shared as she swiped more data on her screen. “At least 3 of them are relatively close from the contact point.”

“Widowmaker, prep a loadout for tonight. Just the usual. Sombra and I will discuss a plan. Reconvene in three hours in my room and we’ll discuss the plan.”

The woman nodded and stood up to go without another word. “Make sure to eat some lunch too! Killing people on an empty stomach is such a downer!” Sombra called after her teammate. She heard Widowmaker scoff and the hacker laughed as the door shut.

“Don’t antagonize her, Sombra,” Reaper said as he sat forward to look at Sombra’s screen.

“She doesn’t do anything without orders most of the time. Couldn’t have her not eating. So, Gabe,” Reaper looked at her full on and she knew he didn’t really care for when she called him that, “Why the twenty-two-hour window?”

“McCree reacts quickly. After he has had time to assess the situation he makes his call on what he’ll do. Twenty-two hours is what I would suspect to be the amount of time before his consciousness wins, and he would cave to the offer.”

Sombra made the screen interactable by Reaper’s fingers so he could look through the locations she had already pulled up. “Wow. You two must really know each other huh?”

He negated a few locations from the map. “What did you do with him after you confirmed he had no other data?”

“Concerned?” Reaper refused to even entertain her with an answer or any apparent change in body language. “I left him. You didn’t say to kill him and you’re always so concerned with following orders.” She could hear him sigh at her smart ass remark about orders. “Did you want me to?”

For once Reaper’s silence didn’t seem calculated. He wasn’t avoiding her question because she had asked something that annoyed him. It was hard to tell, but slowly she was starting to figure him out. This silence was because he had to think about the answer. She didn’t push him again but waited. There was the possibility if she was patient she’d get what she wanted.

“From what you said it doesn’t seem like he plans to answer the recall. He isn’t an immediate concern.”

That wasn’t a yes or a no. Everyone knew Reaper had a list of Overwatch agents to kill off. But no one knew the reason behind each name or who all was on it. Some were obvious; Ana Amari, Jack Morrison, Winston. But others weren’t as obvious. And if Sombra had one dominant trait that had gotten her as far as she was, it was curiosity.

“Did you pick a location?” She didn’t push more, you couldn’t push too hard or you could walk away with nothing. This was a long game, a series of bringing down firewalls to get the stuff you wanted. If you pushed too hard the security would go off and you could get locked out.

“This one will do. Find out if there are any blue prints or pictures of buildings in the area and draw up a virtual map.” He stood up and went for the door leading out.

She frowned at him and threw her hands up, “That’s a lot of work you know. What are you going to do in the meantime?”

“I’m going to go order us some lunch so we can eat while we work. I wouldn’t want you to have to kill someone on an empty stomach. Apparently, it can be a real ‘downer’.”

She smiled as the door shut behind him.

One firewall at a time.  
~*~*~  


23:00

Approximately twenty-two hours after Jesse McCree’s initial contact with Ana Amari.

The abandoned distillery was so quiet that even the crickets seemed to mumble as the warm wind whistled by. A figure wearing a cowboy hat stood with their back to the only drivable path that led up to the distillery. They waited like that, shifting their feet every so often and looking vaguely around for several minutes before footsteps could be heard on the asphalt leading up to the bay doors.

The building had been abandoned long enough that the outside lights were burned out and only the distant lights of the city-maintained streetlights offered any aid in illuminating the area.

The figure in the cowboy hat did a quarter turn with their head, attempting to look at who was approaching as soft footsteps came near.

Amari appeared to be alone, and her weapon was not with her. “I take it you decided to join us, McCree?” she asked with a smirk as she stopped about twenty yards from the figure and lightly crossed her arms. She still had her ammo belt on her waist, which was still easy to see even under the overly large combat coat she wore.

The figure held up the transmitter, which blinked a friendly blue light at a steady pace. Amari shifted her weight to her left leg, the shift made it obvious she felt something was wrong. McCree wasn’t usually this quiet.

A sniper shot rang out and one second later the closest street light exploded in glass shards that sprinkled the asphalt below with a noise that was delicate but also somehow almost as loud as the gun shots.

“Sorry, I’ve already been hired.” The cowboy hat was tossed aside as Sombra shook her hair loose from having it all tucked under the hat. The brim of the hat had shielded her eyes from the street light so her eyes were adjusting to the deeper dark quickly.

Amari was on the asphalt and had already rolled to her side as she looked up at the roof top trying to spot Widowmaker’s rifle. Her hand was gripping her left shoulder, where she had apparently landed after dodging the sniper’s shot but the woman was otherwise unharmed.

Already Sombra could hear Widowmaker’s angry French in her head though the com link was silent.

All of this took only a few seconds and another shot fired. Amari dodged it as well, but this time less luckily as she took a bullet into the shoulder she landed on as she rolled from where the shot had been aimed.

The third shot wouldn’t miss and Amari wouldn’t be able to get up and move quickly enough to avoid the killing blow. But Sombra couldn’t stick around to watch the demise of the Overwatch agent because someone had shot out the street light after Widowmaker had fired on Amari. They had to be close and they had to be dealt with.

She waved her hand over her face making her body appear invisible as Widowmaker’s second shot fired out, trying to move as swiftly as her teammate. She started to run a wide arc around Amari’s downed body, towards where it had seemed the enemy gunshot had come from, but she didn’t make it four steps before the man stepped out from behind a dumpster. How had he not been noticed there? Had he moved?

There was no time to figure it out as he lobbed a round item into the air right above Amari. Mere seconds before Widowmaker pulled the trigger for her third shot the item exploded and a bright flashbang filled the dark parking lot of the distillery.

Sombra cried out, not having reacted in time as her eyes were assaulted by the bright light and her cloaking dropped making her visible again. She stopped dead in her tracks and backed up, hands in front of her face to try and protect her if the second person came at her.

Her back hit the distillery wall and she blinked a few times before letting her eyes remain closed to adjust. Surely even Widowmaker’s visor couldn’t get past that blinding light. In the commotion Sombra wasn’t sure if she had heard that third shot or not.

The smell of gunpowder whisked past Sombra. She opened her eyes to see a black mist quickly forming into the shape of a man with shotgun raised. Reaper fired a shot at the retreating back of Amari and a man that had the number 76 on his jacket. So that was ‘Soldier 76’, the man that was really the presumed dead Jack Morrison. They had come prepared it seemed.

“Sombra,” Reaper’s harsh voice snapped her to reality, vision still blurry and ruined for the dark though she could make some things out. “Go around, hack 76’s visor.”

She nodded and steadied herself before turning invisible again and taking off.

The map she had earlier that day broke down every alley way, building layout, and sewer entrance for six square blocks. She could have done further out if she had been given more time, but the situation was what it was. Now they had a six-city block radius to catch Morrison and Amari or they could potentially be lost.

Reaper’s voice followed her through the communicator in her ear, “Widowmaker, follow on the roof tops. After Sombra takes out Soldier’s vision he’ll be stalled for a few seconds. Take the shot on Amari.”

“Roger,” came the heavily accented reply from Widowmaker. Unfeeling though she often was, and always claimed to be, Sombra could detect the tinge of anger in her voice. She had fired two shots and hadn’t hit her target. Only another sniper could have the instincts to dodge those bullets. But even with that excuse, failure was intolerable. It was supposed to be ‘one shot, one kill’ not ‘two shots and a wounded shoulder.’

A faint outline of Soldier came up on Sombra’s HUD display through the city block she was tracing him. It was the tech in his visor that allowed her to even spot him. She couldn’t hack it from this distance but she could detect it if she looked specifically for it. 

She was faster than he was and easily rounded into an alley that connected their paths. They would have to turn her direction as a tall fence blocked the opposing direction, and Reaper was herding them right toward her. The noise of his shotgun blast bounced off the walls as Soldier and Amari turned unknowingly in front of the hacker.

Power had to be used by the hacking tech, that way it could act more quickly, so her cloaking technology had to go without. Amari spotted Sombra first and stopped, grabbing Soldier’s arm in an attempt to make him also stop, “Jack!”

But Sombra’s fingers were faster than Amari could react and suddenly Soldier was blinded. He grunted in anger as his hand went to his face to remove the visor but the two stopped dead in their tracks for a few precious seconds. As quickly as she was able to move, Sombra tossed her translocator as hard as she could towards the rooftop.

Behind them Reaper came around the corner and stopped. He raised his weapon to fire on them. Undoubtedly Widowmaker was readying her shot above. Sombra pushed a button to activate her translocator, not wanting to be in the small space in the direct line of shotgun shot.

Sombra appeared in mid-air as the locator started to descend back down from her throw. The translocation process took seconds, but she felt like it took an hour each and every time as she felt her body essentially break down and move through space and time to reassemble. She never told anyone but it was exhausting. If she did it too often in a day it burned through her entirely.

“Get back!” came a cry as a blast rocked the rooftop to Sombra’s right. She pulled her eyes from the alley to see Widowmaker aim her grappling hook to another rooftop before she fell to the nearby street. She hadn’t gotten her shot off.

Sombra’s attention whipped back to the alley, Amari was forcing Reaper back with hand to hand combat. He turned pieces of his body into black mist before she could connect to his body, but her direct assault was still doing what it was intended to do. She was blocking his attempts to fight back effectively until finally one of his fists caught her under her ribs. Amari made a noise of pain, as Reaper’s metal knuckled gloves connected with her body.

She sank to her knees, and his eyes followed her so he didn’t see the pulse rifle raise and fire directly at his chest.

Soldier’s visor was tucked into one of his pockets, and he had to trust his eyes that probably weren’t adjusted very well. But his pulse shot had caught Reaper off guard, he didn’t have the time to transform his body and so he was sent back a good five feet.

With a new translocator, Sombra popped up behind Soldier. As she came down she brought her knee into the man’s shoulder, bringing him to the ground. She landed on top of the man’s back, as he splayed out on the ground below her.

Everything was happening so fast, as it always did, but Sombra’s heart was pounding in her ears and she realized then she was panting as well. At some point in all of this she had started to actually be a little pushed to perform. These Overwatch heroes were more impressive than she had given them credit for initially.

Blasts echoed around her from above, Widowmaker was still preoccupied with someone else that Sombra still hadn’t had the time to locate. And she would have to continue to head that issue alone for now.

“Morrison!” Reaper’s voice was so full of rage that it made Sombra’s hair stand on end as she looked up at her teammate. He was still standing, having recovered from the pulse rifle shot for the moment, but it was obvious his cells were still fixing the actual damage as he hunched over just a little.

Suddenly, pain filled Sombra’s right leg and she cried out. Amari’s hand was gripped around something that had been driven into Sombra’s body. “What did you do?” Sombra cried as Amari smiled.

“It’s quiet time,” her soft voice said smugly as Sombra’s eyes became too heavy to keep open and she fell backwards off of Soldier’s back.

 

The sniffling was non-stop. Each child had cried themselves to sleep with the knowledge that no one else would make fun of them for it in the morning. How could you make fun of someone for the very thing you yourself did?

The orphanage was over crowded, underfunded, and devoid of hope. But no one could do anything. It had only been two years since the Omnic Crisis had ended, and the Mexican government still wasn’t back on its feet. Not many countries could claim they were to be fair, but when you were seven your single town was your whole world.

Olivia didn’t feel the smallest twinge of sleep. She felt more awake than she ever had in her short seven years of life. The rush of hacking an officer’s computer right in front of his face was still coursing through her veins. Tonight was the hand off. Los Muertos would get the dirt they wanted on the cops, and she would have a way out of this cramped bed. Away from the sniffling and sobs.

The sisters that ran the orphanage would be already in bed, only Sister Cruz would still be awake, making her nightly rounds to make sure no little hands took extra food. But the young nun was easy to side step. She kept very specific patterns at night.

It was time. Olivia didn’t even have to look at a clock. She just knew.

Moving slowly so as to create as little noise as possible, she slid out of bed without removing the covers from her body directly. The bottom bunk had its advantages in situations like this. She had been fine with taking it when bed rotations had come around.

The rectangle shaped room occupied more bunkbeds than it really could hold, leaving only two feet between the beds in every direction. Very little room for error as she slipped from the bed to the ground.

No one stirred, so far so good.

The door was only two beds away and with the windows completely barred over it was her only option for her final exit.

If you asked her opinion, she was very good at being sneaky. It was easy to develop such skills when the adults around you chose to ignore you unless they absolutely had to interact with you. But sneaking around other kids, that could be hard. Everyone always wanted to know what each other was doing. So, Oliva took her time as she quietly walked to the middle aisle between the beds and then towards the door. She was holding her breath subconsciously, her bare feet made almost no noise on the cold concrete.

To her right a boy shifted under his covers and she froze. In the dark she could see him turn over, kick his feet, and stay still once more. Sure he was still, she continued to the door and left as quickly as she could while remaining as quiet as possible.

Once the door was closed she leaned on the wall and let out the breath she had been holding, feeling her heart race in her chest. Her palms ached, and she realized she had been digging her nails into them the entire time.

The problem was, while no one would really miss her, nuns were nosy. They’d want to know where she was trying to go. Closer attention would be paid to her if she was caught.

But sneaking out had proved to be as just as easy as she had planned.

Not a single sister heard her quiet, small feet as she raced to her freedom. Leaving behind the sniffles in the dark. The dwindling hope that some adult would save them.

Oliva wasn’t going to wait for anyone to save her. She’d do it herself.

Emerging into the warm night air, Oliva took a deep breath in through her nose. The smell of dust and machine smog threatened to choke her, but for once she didn’t mind. From this night on she’d be her own woman. Nothing would hold her back.

Shifting her bag on her shoulders she started down the street, glancing up just once to the sky to see that the stars were shining on her brightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't abandoned this work. I did get distracted with writing other things. But I promise to see this through.


End file.
